


*I really hate you, Tyler!*

by Anonymous



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Friendship, Relationship Problems, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24036583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Armie has a really good friend who knows what he needs!
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 16
Kudos: 46
Collections: Anonymous





	*I really hate you, Tyler!*

**Author's Note:**

> However, by staying I denied her the victimhood she craved. And she hated me even more for it...
> 
> A journey through all sort of emotions.

[](https://ibb.co/b14dKjj)

It’s getting late. The waves below the villa pound the moonlit beach in white, lacy foam. All the excited voices around me and the tell-tale signs of alcohol intoxication are difficult to ignore now.

In the heat of the summer night by the ocean, people have started to shorten the distance, lean on each other’s shoulders and laugh uncontrollably at things they find only mildly amusing when sober.

“One, two, three, down!” go the Blue Kamikaze shots and the dance moves become bolder and indecent. Across the veranda, the noisy group are gulping down azure liquid and clap loudly as the next person puts the empty glass down.

It’s that time of the night when the ocean breeze covers the partygoers’ sun-kissed bodies and tousled locks with cool bites and brine. Boldness crawls in their wandering hands, sticky with vanilla frosting and lowered inhibitions.

She sits on someone’s lap and her high-pitched shrieks are drowning out the last few seconds of “I am not sorry”.

I know with absolute certainty that she is recycling that crass thing about the man who said he is not sharing drinks and the woman who replied: “but you gave me head last night”. I can make out the words on her lips and I know exactly when she will pause before shooting out the last sentence triumphantly, with the confidence of a comical genius. Little courtesy chuckles will follow, as this is only the 50th time the group has heard that joke in the last few years.

It won’t be long now before her “Ain’t I so damn sexy?” mode will be turned on and I will have to untangle her from whomever she has chosen to grind her hips against.

I will try to pacify her with “Baby, it’s getting late, we’ll be very tired tomorrow. Let’s go.”. She will insist she isn’t drunk (despite me not suggesting it!) and she will have none of my attempts to “control” her. There will be a befuddled outburst about women, power or men with money, etc. and when all eyes are on us, I will apologise as we are leaving and she is staggering on her feet, discarding stilettos and handbags in her trail…

***

The boring predictability of her drunken antics has ceased to surprise me a long time ago. When her insecurities started creeping in all these years back, I was somewhat fond of them, as they revealed a human side of her. I was almost happy she wasn’t just the older woman who knew much more than me about things and maintained this strong woman image.

The first time she got drunk and scratched me, I even felt important. She was relatable. I was no longer the juvenile husband; I was dealing with proper adult stuff now…

While I was never head over heels for her, I was convinced that she was the right choice for me and we’ll have an ordinary family life, sex on a Saturday night, kids, a dog and sunny holidays. Not a life to die for, but positively liveable.

My praise and support for her continued to grow even when those episodes became more frequent and her rage towards me escalated with every salt-rimmed Margarita. I believed them to be a mere glitch, something that would miraculously disappear if I showed patience and gave her what she needed.

Over time that changed from yearning simple respect and acknowledgment to demanding huge money for dead-end projects, insisting on accompanying me to every single event, monitoring my networks and choosing my food in restaurants. I allowed more and more room for movement trying to avoid the pitchfork pointed towards me; being apologetic for any partial success of mine, struggling to find any remnants of the woman I thought her to be, until one day I felt my back pressed to the wall. How much worse could it get?

**_And then HE happened. And it did…_ **

And I run out of excuses. My cowardice spelled “Stay” and I did, slipping in and out of days mechanically with increased apathy. By now she has long parted with the “power woman” illusion, realising that it (or, in fact, she) will never happen. However, by staying I denied her the victimhood she craved. And she hated me even more for it.

Only after him I knew one thing. She’d never be happy, even if I chose to humiliate myself forever to make her feel important. I realised that she was always missing the most vital ingredient for happiness – feeling at peace with oneself. This couldn’t be fixed and my attempts to do that only egged her on to lash out at me, as if being kind was a double assault.

Long before Crema, she wanted more, she always needed something else. These was the necessity to re-write stories, memories, achievements; to twist even the simplest innocent story and corrupt it or exaggerate her role in it. It was compulsive and uncontrollable.

She was furious and nasty at the mere suggestion that there is no need to bend things and modify everything, including her own face! Those invented fragments of a glamorous life were guarded with ferocity that was equally frightening and revolting. It baffled me that there were NO reasons for her malignancy other than greed and vanity. Her ever-changing features filled me with sadness, so did her pathetic sophomoric humour, her constant striving to highjack every party with her over the top stunts and her sorry attempts to build a perfect IG life out of doctored photos and amazing family moments that never were.

Only after him I knew I wasn’t the reason for this. And that by pussyfooting around her issues in the hope they will self-resolve, I have helped to create the monster she was today.

She simply existed in her mind as a different person and I have long lost the hope of making her see some sense. A family event meant hours of make-up, tireless re-arrangement of table decorations and endless cropping for the perfect shot. And she treated us all as props ready for manipulation. As long as we kept her idea of “perfection” afloat, she will not sulk and might even stay off the cocktails for a couple of days.

It wasn’t one of those days, I noted with a mixture of annoyance and pity as we made our way to the door. Occasionally her alcohol-fuelled attacks would take a bizarre turn for frenzied sex acts. Then she would pounce on me in a vain attempt to validate her appeal.

She never figured out that taking sexy too far wasn’t my thing at all, but I felt obliged to resign to the odd sloppy blow job in someone’s bathroom or a (not so) secluded balcony. After all, I could hardly top-up my self-hatred, especially after she was **still** my choice…

It was her. Not him. And I had to live with it every day.

***

“Come, huuuuuusband.” God, it really IS one of those nights, I thought as she pulled me towards the piano room and started licking my neck. I squirmed at her toxic breath and stepped back as she cupped my dick through the shorts. “Sweets, no!”, I protested in my last attempt to propitiate her with a hollow endearment. Her Texan drawl filled the room as she was trying to wake up my flaccid pecker with some filthy language before kneeling and unzipping me…

I heard a loud cough behind my back as someone said: “Excuse me” and stood up behind the piano. Tyler. Of course. I could see the boredom etched on his face about an hour ago at the veranda.

“Sorry, Ty” I mumbled as I zipped myself up. Stumbling on my way to the bathroom, I silently thanked him before filling up the sink with ice cold water. I splashed my face aggressively for what seemed like eternity, then stared at the wet hair sticking to my forehead and my clumped eyelashes while dragging the corners of my mouth down with my fingers. Had a sudden need to look distorted to match the mess inside. When did we get to this? _How?_

“You OK, Arms?” Tyler knocked on the door.

_NOOOOOO. Never been worse. Shoot me, Ty! Quick!_

“I am OK, mate. Thanks.”

“You are far from OK, buddy, and you haven’t been OK for a while…”

_Just don’t, Ty! Don’t pity me…_

“Wanna talk?”

I could hear him exhaling loudly before adding. “She passed out on the sofa. Sheesh, she is comatose. Let me guess. Blue K, half a dozen probably?”

_Eight, Ty. Until I stopped counting._

“I don’t feel like talking, man. Need to rest…”

“Then don’t. But you _will_ listen…”

I heard a metal click and it took me a few seconds to realise that I couldn’t open the door.

“The lock’s faulty, Arms. You have no choice but to listen, I am afraid. And then I might let you out.”

_What the fuck?_

“How about getting some appreciation?” Tyler asked. “You look like you really need it.”

There was a short pause behind the door while he seemingly fiddled with his phone. My hands froze on the handle when a lively, excited voice filled the tight space around me.

“I love how Armie runs his hand across that...”

_Why, Tyler? Why?_

“Armie overtakes me. It’s difficult to keep up with someone who is so big, fast and strong…”

I see HIM next to me, his sharp knees touching the handlebar grips as he tries to keep up with my speed and I get a whiff of his sweat. Something stirs inside me, deep and untameable.

“…He takes a hundredth of the frame. He is tiny in that shot and yet he is everything.”

_I really hate you, Tyler._

“…I know this scene so well. The sense of abandonment, emptiness…”

When he pulled the back of my shirt at the train station, the top button sank in my jugular notch. I still feel it there, Ty. _It burns!_

 _Nowhere to hide._ My eyes suddenly got itchy and there was a tingly sensation in my nose.

“Who wouldn’t fall in love with Armie Hammer?” continued the voice, drenched in sweetness and admiration that choked me and made me weak. I felt warm fingers gently stroking my cheek.

My agony continued through talks of desire and sensuality that change lives. “Love wholly, love unabashedly” the voice said with heart-breaking certitude before adding: “to suffer is…right”. Only a shell of me remained in that bathroom. The rest was taken on a merciless journey through the words of the man who re-defined me. The one who woke me up from a coma only for me to decide to stay in the hospital bed.

“I didn’t’ meet him. I recognised him! L’amour me ravage…” He rolled out the vowels in his semi-whispered tone, the one that undid me fibre by fibre with his hidden grief and passion.

My hand slid inside my shorts by natural instinct. Warmth. I felt the increased blood flow bringing life and heat to my cock as it sought HIM and I gave in. The head popped out, pink and swollen like his lips after hours of kisses. When my nails scratched the raphe, he came to me in the only form that I still had control of – by me and through me, through the body that combusted intertwined with his and only knew real pleasure with him. His beautiful hands were my hands, merged in a love ritual. 

He got inside me like an invisible entity ruling the responses of my body and guiding my hand. I didn’t have him, only the voice that still held me like a choking hand and the cock in my palm that sensed the velvety smoothness of his butt. I loved him from the beginning to the end of me, but I have never used myself as a conductor before. That night, between two sharp gasps, I came with a sob and fell on my knees. With each tremor I was becoming his again, rescued by the weakness of my own being and forged by the need to re-discover all of him and who I was with him.

Sad vocals enveloped me. His hands are on the piano, he plays and turns his head right. Then he lifts his shoulder slightly as a solemn wrinkle separates his forehead. Haven’t I watched this a thousand times?

“Everything happens to me

At first my heart thought you could break this jinx for me

That love would turn the trick to end despair

But know I just can't fool this head that thinks for me

I've mortgaged all my castles in the air

I've telegraphed and phoned

I send an "Airmail Special" too

Your answer was "Goodbye"

And there was even postage due

I fell in love just once

And then it had to be with you…”

*****

I heard the metallic click long after the song was finished, and my tears have dried to give way to a numb, empty stare. After love, there’s pain and after pain there is…a revelation. It doesn’t matter that it chooses to come to you on a drunken night in the form of your no-nonsense friend, memories and a hasty wank. After the revelation there is love. And then pain again? All that I know is that it will take the dreamiest green eyes to break the cycle.

The door opened a little and Tyler squeezed his hand in, still holding the phone. The display showed HIS name and I wept and bit my lip at the sound of the outgoing call.

_Thank you, Ty!_

“You are welcome, buddy!” he said.

_But I didn’t thank him out loud, did I?_

“Get over yourself, Arms. You are complex but not THAT complex. I can still read you like an open book...”

“Shut up, Ty!”

_I love you, mate!_

“Heyyyyyy!”, bloomed the familiar voice at the other end. Remorse and happiness fought in my throat.

“Timmy, I…” I started but couldn’t continue.

“Is everything OK? You are scaring me.” he muttered, and I broke down again.

_His first thought was to ask me how I felt! After everything. Despite everything._

“TimmyTimmyTimmyTimmy…” I squeezed the phone as if my life depended on it, and probably it did.

_He knows me. He feels me. He will understand._

So I put my lips on the phone and I compressed myself in three short words.

**“Please forgive me”.**

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains real life references and my idea of what might have happened in-between.
> 
> \- There was a SM vid from a night party (it turned out to be Tyler's birthday actually, but I didn't realise this when I wrote the fic, so Tyler was inserted here by chance!). Armie is trying to appease a visibly agitated and tipsy Liz who screams "fucking hell goddamit" with "Baby, baby..." Link in the comments below!  
> \- "Sweets" is an endearment he used for her recently after that quarantine cooking vid.  
> \- The joke about "giving head" is also taken from her SM.  
> \- Public bathroom sex activity rumours have been circling around forever.  
> \- Timmy sings "Everything happens to me" in A Rainy day in New York.  
> \- All the other things that Tyler puts on for Armie on his phone are direct quotes from interviews and CMBYN commentary. If you have any questions about any citation, talk to me in the comments. :)


End file.
